


First, Build a Forte (Of Books)

by anilee0510



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bookstores, First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:52:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3082871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anilee0510/pseuds/anilee0510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bokuto Koutarou, 20 years old, college junior, has been locked in a bookstore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First, Build a Forte (Of Books)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! 
> 
> This was inspired by (1) a prompt on tumblr along the lines of "OTP fighting over the last copy of a book" and (2) an actual guy getting locked in a bookshop ([x](http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-london-29656674))
> 
> I may or may not have projected myself slightly onto Bokuto. Only slightly.

Bokuto Koutarou is a man on a mission.

Three days.

It’s been three. _Frigging_. Days. Every bit of willpower and strength he hadn’t known he’d possessed had been dug out to resist the lure of online forums that he knows has gone abuzz.

But no, Bokuto promised himself not to check until he owned and read the whole thing, a promise that nearly broke when his housemate came home the day before and saw him slumped over on his desk, salivating longingly at a picture of the gorgeously drawn cover.

“Hey, my lab partner was reading that today.”

Kuroo’s offhand comment snapped Bokuto out of his stupor. He assaulted Kuroo for the rest of the day, alternating between wails of “Oh. My. God. Did he say anything about it?” to screeches of “Wait, no, don’t tell me, I don’t want spoilers” back to cries of “But I need to know! I’m going crazy here!” whilst his mouse hovered dangerously over the thread headlined SPOILERS.

Having seen Bokuto’s Breakdowns previously, Kuroo takes it all in stride and being the best bro and piece of trash that he was, did his best aggravate them despite Bokuto’s state of vulnerability.

 “Oh by the way, Kenma said something about the protagonist finding out-” He sing-songs over his shoulder, escaping into his room as Bokuto hurls pencils, erasers and his smartphone at him, yelling, “ _Shut the hell up, I don’t want to know!_ ”

The sadistic bastard just smirks at his agony. “Oya oya oya? I thought you just said you _needed_ to know?”

Times like this, Bokuto wonders why he’d agreed to be friends.

The familiar chime of a pair of owl bells jingling overhead brought him back to the blessed present. He steps into Fukuro Books and it’s like he’s stepped through a portal into a realm of peace and tranquility, the aroma of new books and printing ink permeating all around.

Bokuto considers it a religious experience. Kuroo says he looks like he’s getting high off weed, the one time Bokuto made the mistake of bringing him along.

Upon arriving at the newly released section, Bokuto sighs with relief when he sees **The Book** displayed in the middle of the top shelf, the place of honor occupied only by the very best sellers, for the world to ooh and ahh at.

It turns out it’s the last copy because Bokuto can see the tables advertising its release with brightly colored posters and capitalized letters are devoid of the tome and he thanks knowledge deities worldwide.

Maybe Kuroo had been right, that the smell of books to Bokuto was like addictive drugs to others because he swears as he reaches a hand up for **The Book** , he swears it’s halo-ed and draped in holiness while angelic lights shimmered around it.

Or maybe that’s the hallucination Bokuto’s sleep-deprived mind has conjured. He’s been up for roughly 35 hours now, writing three essays and cramming two exams between staring at new theory threads on the literary forum he frequents. A few visions here and there wouldn’t be unexpected.  

Either way, none of that matters now, not when **The Book** was right in front of him and calling out to him.

 _You’re finally here, Bokuto-sama. I’ve been waiting, Bokuto-sama. Take me home with you_.

He grabs it and this must be how junkies feel like when they get a shot, Bokuto feels like ascending to Heaven because he’s holding and _touching_ **The Book**.

Except there’s a tugging pressure from the other side and he’s abruptly dropped back to Earth when **The Book** nearly leaves his hands.

Now, Bokuto is normally a pretty mellow guy. He doesn’t lose his temper much, he sulks only occasionally and always for good reason, he helps old ladies cross the street even when running late for class.

However, he did not spend the past three days self-tormenting himself while fighting off the very tempting dredges of sleep in a last ditch effort to salve the poor remains of his falling grades only to have **The Book** snatched away right when he has finally attained it.

He tightens his hold and turns to the thieving grinch, probably looking like Death himself and ready to dish out several pieces of his tired and half-crazed mind. A picture of the little geek has already established itself in his mind, some mousey college kid, probably, whom Bokuto would feel no remorse teaching a lesson or two if it means he walks away with **The Book**.  

What he sees instead is a guy with disheveled black curls and heavily lidded eyes, the shadows underneath accentuated by his porcelain white tone. Like Bokuto, he too seems to have been pulling a few unwanted all-nighters, except, unlike Bokuto, who looks like something a cat dragged in through mud and garbage, the guy looks like the next model for College Kids With No Life And Not Enough Sleep.

Bokuto’s jaws slacken along with his grip and he’s really gone off the deep end now because he can hear a chorus of nuns singing Christmas carols somewhere in the far distance.

“Oh. Were you getting...that?” Mr. How Can You Look That Good With Baggy Eyes stares at him with mild surprise but doesn’t let go of **The Book**.

In fact, there’s the smallest hint of a fire kindling in his tired eyes, like he’s readying the last of his energy reserves to fight Bokuto to the death.

Bokuto finds his adrenaline spike to alarming levels, and it’s not because of his fight-or-fight response.

Bokuto is also taking too long to reply, judging from the way **The Guy’s** jaw is clenched and tense and damn, he has _nice_ cheekbones and those are some _long_ lashes- what was the question again? “What? No, no, not at all-”

“Oh. Good.” Then **The Book** is gone and so is **The Guy** and Bokuto is left gaping after him.

The part of his mind that’s still rational has fallen to its metaphoric knees and is clawing at metaphoric eyes whilst grievously moaning the loss of **The Book**. The not-rational part is in a similar position but berating him with sticks and stones about why he didn’t ask for **The Guy’s** number.

 

“So why didn’t you ask for his number again?” Kuroo finally asks after doubling over in his sixth fit of laughter. 

There’s momentary silence, broken only by the sounds of Kenma furiously pressing the buttons of his 3DS, before Kuroo starts guffawing about “caroling nuns and holy visions,” nearly falling off the couch from shaking so much.

Bokuto contemplates helping him.

“Because asking a stranger for his number is creepy and stalker-ish.” The ball of black, yellow and red that is Kenma answers from his corner of the couch.

Kuroo puts on a look of immense hurt. “You thought I was being creepy and stalker-ish?”

Bokuto snorts. “No, he told you to your face you were being creepy and stalker-ish. And then he reported you to his manager since you wouldn’t stop harassing him so now we’re forever banned from Nekoma.”

Kuroo, for some reason, suffers selective amnesia whenever the topic of his first meeting with Kenma is brought up.

Really, the only good thing to come from that was watching Kuroo mope about for days on end and it wasn’t until he nearly walked out the door for class wearing nothing but boxers that Bokuto finally took pity and intervened.

He only confided in Kuroo because he’d been expecting similar treatment, as repayment for helping the ungrateful and no-longer-single bastard.

Kuroo waves it aside. “Don’t change the subject, Bokuto, we’re talking about you and this bookworm buddy of yours. You don’t even have a name? Haven’t seen him on campus or anywhere around? Not even at the school store? Everyone passes through there at least once.” Bokuto shakes his head. Kuroo runs a hand through his already messy tangle of a bedhead, frustration obvious in the movement. “You could have at least snapped a picture on your phone so it’ll be easier to sta- I mean, find him!”

All good points, Bokuto had to admit. Sadly, events happened too fast for his sleep-deprived mind to keep up and now here he was, replaying the scene where **The Guy** walked out of Fukuro with **The Book** bundled safely in a jacket.

He found the image oddly endearing and slightly bittersweet because what were the chances of running into **The Guy** again? On top of that, he wouldn’t be able to get his hands on **The Book** for another week, since that’s how long it would take Fukuro to restock its copies, as one of the employees had apologetically informed hm.

 

Day 3 and Bokuto feels like he’s slowly drowning to death. He’s seen **The Book** in the hands of no less than fourteen people already and his shift barely started fifteen minutes ago.

Several times, he had to clap hands over his ears and launch into a rendition of Ruldoph the Red-Nosed Reindeer so as to cover up the conversations taking place in line. At this point, he would dance naked in order to avoid spoilers, odd stares and whispers be damned.

He’d tried cursing at the lucky fuckers on the first day, but after a pair of freshmen girls burst into tears, the student manager took him aside and quietly asked him to _please refrain from disturbing the customers, Bokuto-kun_ , else she’ll be forced to report him to their boss. 

Damn customer service jobs.

“Bokuto, seriously, just...go to the back and check the inventory. I think I’ve lost most hearing in my left ear.” Yaku winced as he waves off another customer, who’d been eying Bokuto’s performance with growing concern. “And Lev, stop trying to harmonize with him, there’s a reason why neither of you passed the auditions for Choir.”

“No, Yaku, you don’t get it,” Bokuto moaned while the first year sputtered indignantly about how he could have totally made it into Choir if he’d really been trying.

“You have to wait another four days to get the year’s most highly anticipated novel because you lost it and possibly your heart to a beautiful nameless stranger at the bookstore. Yes, I know, between you and Kuroo, I’ve heard it twenty times already.”

“My heart has not been lost! It’s right here.” Bokuto smacks himself in the chest, around the area where he thinks the organ is located.

“You’ve been making mooney-eyes and sighing every time a guy with black curls walk in.”

“Because! What if it’s **The Guy** and he has my copy of **The Book** , which I need to retrieve and devour.” And yeah, getting his number and name along the way would be a great plus.

Lev blinked, looking back and forth between him and Yaku, confusion evident in his eyes. “He’s still talking about the book, right?”

“Who knows?” Bokuto yelps like man as Yaku forces him down the table and out of sight to ring up a guy comes up with stack of Scantrons, a couple of Bluebooks and a corner of **The Book** poking out of his bag.

 

A week later, Bokuto finds himself back in Fukuro’s and his heart nearly gives out when he finds a whole pile of **The Book** , stacked carefully and appeasingly atop one another at the New Books table. 

He heads to the second floor with a copy, settling himself upon a cushion in an obscure corner. Christmas was right around the corner and he didn’t have the patience wait in line, he. Had. To. Read. It. Now.

He’s so engrossed he doesn’t notice the hours ticking by, isn’t aware of the number of patrons diminishing in the store, doesn’t hear the employees ringing up the last customers and it isn’t until he’s nearly at the end of **The Book,** when he’s plunged into sudden darkness that he realizes how late he’s stayed.

Initially, he’s pissed, because _fucking universe, there’s like two chapters left_ , can’t it even let him finish it? Confusion arises next because he doesn’t understand why the lights got turned off. Was it a blackout?

But no, Bokuto looks out the window and he can see the warm glow of the streetlamps. He stumbles down the stairs and realization slowly sinks in as he takes in the empty darkness. His suspicion is confirmed when he tries the front door and though the owl bells jingle pathetically from his pulling, the door remains firmly closed.

Bokuto’s locked in.

 

After getting over his incipient shock, Bokuto decides the situation isn’t bad at all. The bathroom is locked but he’ll cross that bridge if or when he gets to it, there’s a working water fountain and if he sits close enough to the window, there’s just enough light to see the words on the pages of **The Book** (that part was very important).

Half an hour after completing **The Book** (because he needed 30 minutes to just stare off at space and nothingness in utter bliss, it’s like a divine deity has just imparted universal wisdom upon him), Bokuto remembers to text Kuroo and let him know he may not be returning home tonight, not that his housemate would be too worried.

He looks around, sees the shelves and shelves packed tight with books, from paperback romance novels to the latest fantasy hardcovers, best-seller fictions and young adult novels lined side-by-side and it finally hits him.

Bokuto Koutarou, 20 years old, college junior, has been locked in a bookstore.  

He’s in Heaven and the doors aren’t opening for another 12 hours.

Giving a loud whoop of joy, he begins his quest of building the world’s greatest book forte, pulling _1984_ and _Childhood’s End_ off the sci-fi section, emotionally breaking down when he finds _The Giver_ and _A Thousand Splendid Suns_ and saints above is that _Where The Red Fern Grows_? He’s totally not giggling like a little girl at all as he piles all 13 books of _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ carefully next to every Dan Brown book he’d found.

He’s dragged a cushion down and is getting comfy, three boxes of tissue next to him at the ready, about to revisit the world of Narnia when the streetlights turn off. 

It’s fine. Calm down, Bokuto, he tells himself. This is why the 21st century is so great, there’s technology and this thing called the flashlight app on his phone. Except when he unlocks it, he’s faced with the dreaded red bars indicating low batteries and the phone sputters rather pathetically before the black screen of death surfaces.

Fuck. The. Universe.

“Ahem.” When re-telling the story later, Bokuto will fiercely deny shrieking or jumping or smacking the hardcover version of _The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe_ against his forehead. “I thought I heard something.”

He turns towards the sound, no he is not shaking from head to toe because haha ghosts don’t exist and if they did, why would they haunt a _bookstore_ of all places _oh bloody Mary_ there’s a dismembered face floating in the darkness surrounded by white light.

“Please don’t kill me, I’m so sorry for covering Kuroo’s pillow with chocolate syrup, it was just for laughs, I swear!” he yelps before diving headfirst into the pile of books he scrounged from the horror section, thinking the image of a fanged vampire dripping gore might scare off the vengeful spirit.

“...may I ask what you’re doing?” Surprised at the politeness, Bokuto dares to sneak a peek and sees with a great heave of relief that it’s an actual living person speaking to him and the light was emanating from the LED screen of the phone held in his thankfully intact hands, that if Bokuto squints, ah yes, it’s connected to a body. Phew.

“Oh. _Oh_. Ahahaha. My bad, my bad, I thought you were, um…” On second thought, saying _I thought you were a poltergeist here to cut my head off_ out loud might be a very stupid move.

The guy raises an unamused eyebrow and upon closer inspection, Bokuto realizes with a startled gasp, he wasn’t just any guy, he was **The Guy**. He then proceeds to topple over the Eiffel Tower composed of _The Wheel of Time_ series, hissing as two corners dig painfully into his arm.

 **The Guy** blinks at him slowly.

Despite what Yaku says, it’s not like thoughts of **The Guy** have been invading his thoughts every second of every minute of every hour of every day of his life for the past week but the image of him ducking out of Fukuro’s, hugging **The Book** closely so as to cover it from the light winter drizzle does like to hop along his train of thoughts whenever something (everything) reminded Bokuto of **The Book.**

That, and Kuroo kept throwing him looks of pity, all the while sighing _couldn’t you have gotten a name at least, Bokuto, a name, have I taught you nothing_ didn’t really help matters.

“So what’s your name?” Bokuto blurts because tact has never been his strong point and after a certain point, Kuroo’s voice gets annoying.

 **The Guy** blinks again, even slower this time. “People normally introduce themselves first before asking others’ names,” is his reply.

“Oh, right.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou, nice to me-” Unfortunately, his other hand loses balance as the extra pressure on a loose book causes it to slide down the mini hill of literature and he bangs elbow, back and head against the floor and a couple of novels.

“Are you alright, Bokuto-san?” At least **The Guy’s** not laughing at him, which says something.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” Bokuto gives him a thumbs up but **The Guy** just looks at him blankly. Welp, this is not going according to plan, not that Bokuto _had_ a plan to start with.

“...Akaashi Keiji.”

At last, Bokuto can refer to **The Guy** with a name. Akaashi’s name fit him, in some strange, worldly way Bokuto couldn’t fully explain with words.

“Akaashi, eh? Cool name, really awesome!” He winces. Great, the one time he needs to be suave, all the skills he’s honed with Kuroo flies out the window. Kuroo would cry if he could see Bokuto now. Or more likely, die laughing.

Uh-oh, Akaashi’s frowning, that’s not a good sign. Not five minutes after officially meeting **The Guy** and he’s already somehow offended him with his clumsily sad excuses at flirting, which can’t even be categorized as flirting.

Then it clicks. “Oh yeah, we met last week. Kinda.” Akaashi’s frown deepens. “Err. Err, remember? We both grabbed the same book and you looked ready to kill me if I didn’t let go.” The last part was probably unnecessary but Bokuto’s mouth has a tendency to run on nerves and Akaashi was definitely making him nervous.

“Oh. Is that right?” There’s not a flicker of recognition in his eyes though, so Bokuto knows he doesn’t remember the incident at all. Meaning Bokuto hasn’t been occupying Akaashi’s thoughts the way Akaashi’s been occupying Bokuto’s. It was a pathetically sobering thought.

“So this is quite the situation we’re in.” Bokuto gestures about the dark store.

“Yes.” Akaashi seems surprisingly calm. “I’m friends with one of the student employees, he should be here soon to let us out.”

Oh. That’s why. Bokuto thinks that might be one of the awesomest things ever and he tells Akaashi so, who just tilts his head contemplatively. The gesture sends Bokuto’s heart into a series of rather severe palpitations, like Eros loosed a couple of arrows his way.

“It comes with certain perks,” Akaashi agrees as he carefully picks his way over the hodgepodge of books spread everywhere. “This is quite a collection.” He sounds impressed and Bokuto feels unreasonably proud.

“I’m locked in a bookstore. What else am I supposed to do?” He grins as Akaashi crouches down and picks up a book to read its inside cover synopsis.

Akaashi coughs for a bit before Bokuto realizes with a sudden jump in heart beats that he’s trying to hide his laughter. “You make a good point, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi has a very nice laugh, one that has his shoulders shaking and body hunched because he’s also trying to hold it in.

Stupid Eros casually shoots some more arrows at Bokuto.

When he asks about **The Book** , the two of them hold a rather intense discussion, mostly on the part of Bokuto, with Akaashi chipping in every now and then to share his thoughts about the narrative style, plot twists and _when is the next one coming_?

Even when they exhaust all topics about **The Book** , Bokuto carries on the conversation by asking Akaashi about other books he’s read and it’s like he broke open a dam.

He learns a number of things. Akaashi likes mystery thrillers, dystopians and historical romances (the last one was wrestled out of him rather unwillingly), he’s a psychology major, a year below Bokuto and frequents Fukuro in favor of the library since the latter’s ventilation system has been broken since its construction.

Bokuto in turn rambles about a number of fantasy and science fictions, casually promises Akaashi a discount on his next purchase at the school store if he comes during one of Bokuto’s shifts, complains about all the essays that comes with being a literature major and agrees profusely about the Arctic temperature of the library.

At one point, Bokuto wonders to himself how long they’ve been sitting there cross-legged, on the floor of Fukuro’s, knees nearly touching but not quite closing the last few centimeters.

“No reply,” was Akaashi’s response when Bokuto asks about his employee friend. His brows furrow a bit. “It’s a bit unusual. I’m sorry, Bokuto-san, we may be here for a while.”

“No worries.” Bokuto wouldn’t have minded being locked in Fukuro’s for the rest of the night, surrounded by Akaashi and the pile of books. One of them catches his attention. “Hey, why don’t you try this one? It’s great.”

Akaashi looks at it dubiously. “ _Alcatraz and the Evil Librarians?_ ”

“You’ll shit yourself laughing, trust me.”

“I would rather not, thanks.” But a corner of Akaashi’s mouth is twitching up, oh boy, Bokuto feels like he’s won the lottery or something. “There’s not much light if we’re both going to read.” Akaashi gestures at his phone’s feeble light.

Bokuto gets a brilliant idea. “Can I borrow that?” Akaashi nods and hands his phone over, a quick thrill coursing through Bokuto as their fingers touch briefly. He sets the flashlight app onto the brightest setting, then places it on top of the shelf behind them so the range of light, while weak, shines over both their shoulders. “Not the best, but this should do the trick. How long before the batteries die?”

“I brought a portable charger.” Despite his previous statement, Akaashi’s already flipped to the first page and begun reading. Silence falls, broken only by the sound of pages being flipped and the occasional cough from Akaashi because Bokuto made the right call when he thought _Alcatraz_ would make the other guy laugh.

The sound makes his stomach do giddy backflips.

An indefinite amount of time passes before Akaashi’s phone _beeps_. Bokuto barely notices, too engrossed in the book Akaashi handed to him when he realized Bokuto was just creepily staring at him read.

There’s no warning as the light goes awry suddenly and something large and warm and smelling citrus-y lands on him with a quiet “oof.”

Bokuto instinctively throws out a steadying hand. “You okay, Akaashi?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I didn’t realize my legs had gone numb.”

Akaashi’s shoulders feel warm against his hand and it’s only when his eyes flicker uncomfortably that Bokuto finally notices the position they’re in.

Bokuto’s rational part is furiously waving signs at him with the words STOP, STUPID stenciled in all caps while another part, the one that has been beating his mental self since last week cheers on by the sidelines, pompoms and all.

He’s not sure which part to listen to as his sanity level drops dangerously low with how close Akaashi’s gotten, close enough that even with the dim and crappy lighting, he can make out individual lashes. Akaashi’s apologizing again but Bokuto’s too distracted by the movement of his mouth to hear and even though they’ve barely known each other for more than few hours, he kind of really wants to lean forward and-

Then there’s the familiar jingle of bells and it’s like his eyes are being burned by the sun, everything is so damn bright as his forehead klunks with Akaashi’s nose, leaving the two of them grunting with pain.

“I’m sorry I took so long, Akaashi. I just got your text ten minutes ago. Daichi needed last minute help at the coffee shop, since so many people ditched for exams and- oh.”

A vaguely familiar looking guy with dusty silver hair screeches to a halt when he catches sight of the two, sprawled nearly on top of each other with a pile of books pooling beneath.

He recovers a moment later, giving Bokuto a soft smile. “Hello. Akaashi didn’t say he had a friend this time.”

“Thank you, Sugawara-san. I apologize for troubling you like this.” What? What? What? Akaashi was really just standing up and brushing his jacket off, like him and Bokuto totally weren’t having a moment?

Sugawara simply laughs it off, unaware of Bokuto’s internal implosions. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I was just surprised to see someone else here.” He takes in the scattered books and laughs again. 

Bokuto decides he likes this guy. Not the Akaashi-like, with foreign stomach flutters and sweaty palms. The Kenma-like, because this Sugawara guy seems cool and doesn’t appear to have a mean bone in his body.

Sugawara surveys the area again. “Looks like the two of you have been quite busy.”

“Right. Sorry about that.”

Sugawara helps them clean-up, shelving everything back into its proper place with precision, as expected of an employee of the place.

Oh. That’s why he looked familiar. Bokuto suddenly remembers seeing him in the standard ash-grey apron, bowing apologetically when Bokuto asked him if there were an extra copy of **The Book** left in the warehouse.

After putting _Harry_ Potter back in place, Sugawara waves him off to Akaashi, who is struggling to get six hardcovers back on the YA shelf and Bokuto seizes the chance help and possibly recover that moment they were just having.

“So you’ve been locked in here previously?” he asks.

Akaashi turns and it’s the first time Bokuto’s seeing him in proper lighting and great saints above, he's not just attractive, he's _really_ attractive with that mess of black curls that's  _asking_ to be ruffled and the shadows beneath his half-lidded eyes makes Bokuto want to thumb over the skin to see what kind of reaction he'll get.

A cough jolts Bokuto out of his reverie in time to see Akaashi look away, an edge to his perpetually sleepy expression. “There’s a quiet corner upstairs that I like. Sometimes it gets a bit too...comfortable.”

The way Akaashi is so visibly squirming is almost too much for Bokuto to handle because somehow he can perfectly visualize Akaashi balled into one of Fukuro’s cushions, a book in his hands while he sleeps the afternoon away.

Bokuto bursts out laughing to cover up the fact that he really, really wants to hug Akaashi and maybe bundled him up and take him home, how is this guy real?

Except he still messed up because Akaashi’s just shoved all six hardcovers into Bokuto’s hands and is stalking off with a highly offended air and _Jesus Christ_ , that guy’s stronger than he looks, Bokuto’s arms are about to fall off.   

A little over an hour later, all the books have been returned to their proper places and Sugawara is locking up while telling Akaashi, “I think I told you already, but I may be in and out of town over the next few weeks, so you’ll need to find a new place to haunt. You have your own room, don’t you?”

Akaashi’s makes a small sound of disgruntlement and shit, shit, _shit,_ that was so cute, is there a button for Bokuto to press to repeat it? “My housemate is rather...rowdy.”

“The cafe?”

“Too many people.”

“You can come to my place!” Bokuto butts in and for some reason, it feels like he’s walked into a trap, the way Sugawara smiles knowingly in his direction.

Akaashi opens his mouth and Bokuto knows he’s about to protest with ten legitimate reasons, but Bokuto plows forth nevertheless before he gets the chance to. “My housemates’ will be gone, we got the comfiest couch in town, not to mention.” He jabs thumb proudly at himself. “I can make the best hot chocolate you will ever have.”

Akaashi takes his time to respond. Finally, he says, “Thank you for the offer, Bokuto-san, but I might be visiting home for the holidays.”

“Oh.” Bokuto tries not to let all his disappointment show. Of course, most people wanted to go home this time of the year, where parents fed them on an hourly basis.

He’s not depressed, nor is he sulking as he waves goodbye to the two and heads back to his apartment. Bokuto’s just reached the corner when he hears his name being called and he turns around to see Akaashi catching up to him.

“Bokuto-san, I’ll only be gone on the 24th and 25th.”

He pauses and Bokuto’s not sure what to make of this. Akaashi clears his throat of a cough and Bokuto’s beginning to learn that’s a habit of Akaashi’s when he’s nervous, if the clasping motion of his hands is anything to go by.

“I have some books back home which I think you might like. If you don’t mind recommending a few titles yourself, we could do another exchange? This time, preferably not in a locked bookstore after hours?” There’s a momentary pause as Akaashi makes that uncomfortable-but-cute expression except this time there’s the lightest tinges of pink dusting his cheeks. “I like marshmallows in my hot chocolate.”

Something gets dropped in Bokuto’s hands but his brain is too busy short-circuiting to really register it. Akaashi only waits long enough for Bokuto nod a numbed okay before he mumbles a quiet, “Take care, Bokuto-san” and then he’s gone.

It takes a while before Bokuto’s senses return and when it does, he realizes the thing Akaashi left for him was **The Book.** There’s something sticking out of it, kind of like a bookmark and when he opens it up, he sees it _is_ a bookmark, dotted with tiny owls and a neat scrawl of numbers scribbled on the back.

 


End file.
